


Looking Towards Comfort

by gongjins (orphan_account)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, Body Image, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:32:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/gongjins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras attempts to compliment Combeferre, although it doesn't come out the way he'd hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Towards Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually a prompt on the Les Mis Kink Meme over on LJ. No body shaming in this, I promise.

Enjolras was looking over some maps of the Paris alleyways that they’d been slowly compiling and adding together with the official street map. The lamp oil was close to burning out and of the few boys that were still there, only Enjolras and Combeferre worked. Courfeyrac was talking animatedly with Grantaire and sharing his bottle, after declaring his mindpower spent by the two o’clock chime. Grantaire was lounging with his chair tipped back on two legs and resting it on the tabletop behind him. How he stayed on it, he wasn’t sure, as drunk as he was. Courfeyrac was seated backwards in his chair so that he could rest his arms on the back, and he was tilting forward, his eyes lit up with animation as he orated.

Sweeping a hand through his hair, Enjolras turned back to Combeferre and the maps. He traced a graphite line between two streets to signify an alleyway that wasn’t on the official map. They’d done a little over a quarter of the city so far, and still had to add in the slums and the areas near the river. Those were for sure going to be the most difficult parts, but he wanted to mark the safest pathways for the people to escape and for barricades. If it came to riots and burning, he wanted them to at least get out of the city. 

A cough redirected his attention towards Combeferre as he pulled off his glasses and wiped them clear of grease and dust with his sleeve. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking haggard, and sighed heavily with a great swell of his chest. He had unbuttoned all but one of his vest buttons, and the fabric swelled a little with the strain as he did. Enjolras blinked at it, his brow creasing. He wasn’t the sort to really pay attention to his friends too much, unless they were overbearing like Grantaire or fussy like Joly. Combeferre was a quiet fellow, very content to be shuttled to the sidelines until he had to say something – in which case he always attracted the needed attention. He had a quiet confidence to him that also helped make him seem like a very amiable and comfortable person. 

But this was the first time he’d noticed that his friend was eating very well. While they weren’t as bad off as most were in the city, Enjolras couldn’t help but take note when someone seemed to be more than skin and bones. And of course he didn’t begrudge his friend of that, but still, the transition from Combeferre’s somewhat round belly to Grantaire’s – who seemed to just get thinner no matter how much alcohol he drank – well even Enjolras had to notice. To see someone who wasn’t completely rich and completely useless with such a good disposition, especially a friend, was heartwarming. Maybe they’d all be like that one day, if they could succeed in their revolution.

“You’re looking quite rotund, lately.” He intended it as a compliment. Combeferre started, nearly dropping his glasses as he did so. He scrambled and pulled them on, blinking at him. He put a hand on his belly.

“Who?”

“You of course,” said Enjolras with a gracious smile. 

“Oh.” Combeferre swallowed and looked down at his belly. He cleared his throat, his face quickly going red from the bottom of his neck up to his cheeks. He unbuttoned his final button. Then he buttoned them all again with shaking fingers. “I, ah.” He took his vest off, which of course just showed off how his shirt rounded with his skin. He pulled at his cravat. “I suppose I am,” he finished lamely, looking ashamed.

Enjolras spared him another well-meaning smile, and then turned back to the maps and quickly forgot about the entire exchange. For a while there was silence. And while Combeferre tried to concentrate on the task at hand, he continuously shifted. He would lean against the table for a while, press his fingers under his chin as though pushing up his very faint double chin, and then he’d stand straight and suck in his belly until he looked nearly sickly. Enjolras, distracted, glanced up again. When their eyes met, Combeferre flushed again and ran his hands through his hair.

“I think I’m done for this night,” Combeferre said with a shaky sort of exhale and slumped a bit against the table. He started to pull the maps together in a pile, careful not to mix them up. He rolled them and shifted a tie around it and then readjusted his glasses again. He shrugged on his vest, and then his cravat, and then pulled his blue coat on and all but sunk inside of it. He donned his hat, took up the map, patted Enjolras on the arm and then all but fled. 

Enjolras looked after him for a while until Courfeyrac stumbled over, leaving Grantaire asleep in his propped back chair. He slumped beside him with his elbows back on the table and his legs stretched out and peered up at him through his thick curls. “What did you say to him?” 

“Nothing at all.” Enjolras wondered while he pulled on his own coat and ran a hand through his hair to try and put it back into order. It never worked. “I just complimented that he looked well-fed lately.”

Courfeyrac tossed back his head and laughed, standing up clapping Enjolras on the arm. “Enjolras your compliments are most usually lacking. No doubt you just embarrassed him. He’s already upset enough at himself for it.” He leaned in close. “Too much stress leads to overeating, you know.” 

“I thought it was nice.” Enjolras muttered, creasing his brow. “Someday soon all the people will be able to eat well and we will all be happy.” Courfeyrac gave him a sympathetic pat on the arm.

“Now if only you’d said it like that to him, eh?” 

 

It was early the next morning when he came by Combeferre’s room. He knocked softly at first, so he wouldn’t wake the neighbors, then he knocked louder until Combeferre opened it with a curse and his glasses askew on the bridge of his nose. 

“Enjolras!” He cried, bracing himself against the doorframe and moving the door suddenly closer so that he was blocking his view of the inside. He was down to his undershirt and breeches, though it looked like he’d thrown on one of his shirts to come to the door. “What can I do for you? Oh I knew I should have let the maps with you, I wasn’t thinking, sorry. I really have to study though, I have an exam this morning and I quite forgot and–“

“I wanted to apologize.” Enjolras cut him off with a wave of his hand, which he placed on the door. 

Combeferre stared at him, blinking owlishly. “For what?” He asked with a smile that was supposed to be reassuring. “You didn’t do anything at all my friend.” He grinned. Enjolras noticed that his hair was wet along the back of his neck. His skin glistened too, and his shirt stuck faintly to his skin. There were very faint sweat marks, and he seemed a little out of breath too. 

“I called you rotund,” Enjolras said, looking down at Combeferre’s feet – which were bare. “I didn’t mean to in a bad way, I mean. There’s nothing wrong with your body.” He glanced up again. Combeferre hadn’t yet shaved, and five o’clock shadow pronounced the jut of his chin. “What are you doing, anyway?” 

“I’m,” Combeferre started to speak, then he sighed and withdrew, holding the door open for him to step in.

It was trashed. Though it was not messy in the usual way, with books and papers spilling out over his desk and onto the floor and bed. Combeferre had shoved all of his books and papers against the sides of the room, on top of his dresser and his bed, even his clock and counter space. He’d cleared out the entirety of the center of the room and in the place of all of the normal things were a pair of rods with sandbags attached to them. 

“What are these?” Enjolras frowned, poking at them with his toe. 

“The poor man’s dumbbell,” Combeferre said with a sheepish grin. He picked them up and shoved them under the bed with a bit of effort.

“Why on earth would you make these?” He asked, folding his arms. 

Combeferre smiled, bitterly. “The people wouldn’t follow someone who looks like the very people who are oppressing them, now would they?” He sighed, putting a hand on his belly. 

Enjolras snorted and crossed the room with two quick strides, clasping Combeferre’s arm and giving it a squeeze. “There’s nothing wrong with looking healthy, my friend. Where’s the harm in that?” He scratched at the back of his neck, sheepishly smiling. “Someday we’ll have a world where everyone looks this happy, and no one will have to feel ashamed.” 

Combeferre laughed and sank down onto his bed, crushing a book. He pulled it out and tossed it into another pile. He suddenly looked exhausted. “What a world there is inside your head, my friend. I hope it comes true.”

Enjolras grinned down at him, the morning light shining behind him through the open window. Combeferre looked up at him through his shadow and saw very abruptly why Grantaire’s nickname for him was so apt. Enjolras put a hand on Combeferre’s shoulder. “It will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
